"Rupert! Are you still dawdling? Lord Ramsey requires assistance now, not next week! And who is that insolent tramp standing behind you?"
Rupert turned, his frame completely blocking Bethel. "The offerings from the Breuhaus group are ready, Master Grem. And there is no one here but me."
"Don't lie to your employer, oaf! I saw the skirt of a—" The footsteps stopped directly in front of the textile crates.
A smoother, more powerful voice—one that belonged to a man used to authority—interjected.
"You saw a shadow, Grem. Let it go. I see no one. If the paid brute says he's alone, he's alone. We have business to attend to. Lead the way, my good man."
Rupert gave no response but immediately began moving a crate whose contents clinked like glass. He moved it with practiced ease, following Lord Ramsey out of sight. He made no indication in trying to hinder Grem's suspicions of Bethel's hiding place.
Bethel crouch behind the crate stack, clutching the small sledgehammer inside her cloak. The scent of expensive perfume and spices filled the air. She listened to the two sets of footsteps recede. As one set came closer, Bethel's mind raced.
'Should I use the dagger instead? Just one good slice could give me enough time to get away.' She slid the dagger from her boot. The reeking smell of perfume Grem had doused himself in grew stronger. Pushing her back against a wall, she was startled when it gave way.
"There you are!" Grem stepped around the stacks of crates, expecting to find the tramp Rupert had confidently lied about. Yet a kitten with a mix of gray and white fur stood in place. "Meow?" The sight left Grem baffled.
"A cat? But... I swear I saw a skirt! A dark one!" Grem muttered, his voice thick with frustration. He huffed, looking back toward the open warehouse door where Rupert and Lord Ramsey had gone. "Never mind! I'm wasting time! Get lost, you worthless animal!" He yelled at the kitten, forcing it to hiss at him as it made itself scarce.
Then Grem waddled off, his footsteps and grumbling fading away. He failed to notice the wall Bethel was leaning on was crooked.
The air, now stale with herbs and candle wax, replaced the cloying stench of Grem's perfume. Disoriented by the sudden change of environment, Bethel stood up to take stock of where she was in the darkness. Using her hands to lightly feel around, she tried not to knock anything over.
'Where am I now?' as she tried to find a source of light. Taking small steps, she proceeded forward. Her hands brushed against crates. 'Am I inside another storage room? It must belong to a different trade group.'
Feeling for an opening between the stacks, she reached a door that provided light from beneath. Bethel moved cautiously toward the light, sliding her dagger back into her boot. The moment she neared the door, she heard voices.
She knelt, pressing her ear to the cold wooden door, trying to distinguish who was speaking.
"Lord Ramsey," A cane of lesser quality tapped the ground. "When can I toss that oaf back in the gutter? My actual workers are much more efficient! We especially need more hands around here."
'They are talking about Mr. Graves?' Her fingers pushed into the door crevice, breaking off a rotten piece. Through the hole, she could clearly see the back of the confused Grem, his ridiculous bald spot visible as he lowered his head towards the man he called 'Lord Ramsey.'
"Are you questioning my decisions in the warehouse I own?" A man in formal attire stood straight as he looked down at Grem though a mask meant for a masquerade ball.
"You don't have a say in my business as long as I'm the one signing your paycheck." Lord Ramsey snapped, his voice sharp and dismissive. He gestured toward the room, his hand catching the light—it wore a heavy signet ring with a crest Bethel didn't recognize.
"Now, stop whining about the hired help," Ramsey continued, his voice dropping, "and focus on the ledger. The shipment from the Northern Peaks is late. If that Lunar Icestone doesn't arrive before the fourth new moon, the High Priestess's agent will be most displeased. The second already passed, leaving two till the deadline is met."
Grem immediately snapped to attention, his earlier bluster gone. "Of course, my Lord! My apologies. It's just... the thought of that man being paid several times the amount as my actual workers' wages."
"The current workers aren't useful, Grem. We are short-handed. This shipment from the Northern Peaks is too valuable to risk by hiring more local riff-raff. The 'oaf' stays until the Lunar Icestone is delivered, purely for his size and the fact he can lift a crate without breaking his back. Now, focus on the ledger."
Bethel's mind seized on the words: Lunar Icestone, the High Priestess's agent, and the church. There was something going on here. A nobleman visiting an almost empty traders market late at night. Clearly, it wasn't only to restock his liquor cabinet.
'From the sounds of it, the church is currently distracted.' Looking at the opportunity that had fallen into her lap unexpectedly, a chance to walk the path of less resistance opened up. A chance to pull the rug from underneath their feet. 'I seriously need to find Josephine; whatever happens next will depend on her.'
She let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She moved closer to the hole, just in time to see Rupert walking past, returning to the stacking area. He paused, his clear gray eyes flicking toward the spot where Grem had been, then directly to the locked door beside the storage he was in.
He didn't speak. He knocked once to gain Bethel's attention. Receiving a knock in return.
"Are you all right, Miss Green?" Rupert's voice was a low, steady whisper, filtered through the thick wood. It was close enough to be unnerving, yet still shielded by the warehouse noise.
Bethel swallowed, her fingers gripping the wall. "I'm fine," she whispered back, through the wood.
"Can you light a candle over where I was hiding?"
Rupert replied. "Of course, wait one moment." Rupert's steps retreated quickly, the heavy thud of his boots muffled slightly by the surrounding crates. Bethel heard the distinct scratch of a flint striker, followed by the soft, warm flicker of candlelight.
The light was not directly at the hole, but placed strategically on the floor a few feet away, casting a clear shadow of the crate he had hidden her behind. It was enough for Bethel to gauge her surroundings inside the dark room.
Reaching the same wall, she pushed the top half forward as the bottom half moved toward her. The wall wasn't bolted properly on both ends, giving it a spinning rotation. Crawling out from the bottom, Bethel caught the sight of Rupert staring at her display.
"What? Never saw a woman crawling on all fours before?" She didn't feel ashamed to be seen in such a way, as this barely came close to her personal history of reckless activities.
"Plenty, but you'll have to buy me dinner to learn more of that." His words carried a double meaning. The heat in her ear returned from earlier. Bethel pushed the momentary flush away, focusing instead on the burning urgency of the information Rupert held.
"Need help?" He offered, not the least bit unnerved by Bethel's intense gaze.
Seizing his callous hand, she said, "Please tell me about the last time you saw her? It's important that I find her."
He lifted Bethel off the ground and back onto her two feet. Rupert bent down to wipe off her knees.
"What are you doing?" Bethel took a sharp step back at his unexpected, almost domestic action of wiping her knees.
"Apologies, it's a habit. Let's leave first. Master Grem is waiting for his keys," Rupert said, his calm voice cutting through the rising tension. He didn't explain the habit; he simply refocused on the immediate necessity.
Once Rupert locked up and gave back Grem his keys, the two new acquaintances left the traders market. Bethel taking the lead as she walked ahead of him. Confused at the man's behavior but deciding it was best to shelve it for now.
When they reached the West Quarter gate heading into the Central part of the capital, Bethel turned around and stared at Rupert, feeling that repeating herself to someone like him would be unnecessary.
Rupert gave the confident young woman before him a once over, stopping at her eyes filled with determination. 'So this is what a Divorce Lawyer is like, huh? How peculiar she is.'
"Yesterday, a trader from the Silk & Wool group needed a restock. That's when I saw your client, asking the trader at the stall when they were going to have more Fustian available." He explained.
Bethel remained silent, not wanting to interrupt him.
"He told her to come back in three days from yesterday. They will have what she asked for by then."
Bethel absorbed Rupert's information— the day after tomorrow, Fustian, Silk & Wool group—tucking it away with the details about the Lunar Icestone and the High Priestess.
"Thank you," she said, her voice flat, not wanting to betray the urgency of her need for Josephine, or the relief of finally having a lead.
Rupert leaned his frame against the stone archway of the gate, looking out at the central light posts. "What you are doing may seem foolish to others. But I would like to wish you luck, Miss Green."
She couldn't help smiling at his words; it was rare for a citizen of this kingdom to be wishing her luck.
"If you need anything, I can be found at the Frankfurt tavern. Ask the barkeeper for me by name." Something about Rupert didn't immediately set off any alarms within her. Since he was in no way inferior in strength, it wouldn't hurt to accept help from the one lending it.
Bowing her head in gratitude to a stranger who turned out to be a gentleman in her mind.
"Goodnight, Mr. Graves. I hope that your next job will give you a better employer."
With that, they parted ways. Bethel sprinted off to return to a concerned Lydia.
As for Rupert... He picked up the same gray and white mixed fur kitten that had been following them and tucked it securely into the folds of his thick tunic.